


not this crude matter

by thekatriarch



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21892273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekatriarch/pseuds/thekatriarch
Summary: Why was she taking the Death Star plans to Tatooine, of all the godforsaken nightmare worlds she could have taken them? Did the rebels have a base here? He’d have to send some people down to the surface. He wouldn’t go himself, not if the Emperor himself commanded him to. He’d rip his respirator out of his throat and die before he set foot on that planet again.If they wanted to run a real test of the Death Star, they should bring it here, he thought. Blow Tatooine to dust. He’d like to see that. He’d really like to see that a lot.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 13
Kudos: 105





	1. Chapter 1

Tatooine. Why was a rebel ship going to Tatooine? Something about this felt wrong. His troops were preparing to board the ship, and he was frowning out the window looking at the planet. When was the last time he’d been to Tatooine? Right before the war started, he thought, when he’d gone to look for his mother, and found her with just enough time to watch her die.

Fucking Tatooine.

Taking the ship was easy. He probably could have done it himself, without the stormtroopers. The crew on this ship weren’t soldiers. This wasn’t a warship. Whose ship was this? He must have been told, but he hadn’t really been listening. Should he be leaving some of these people alive for questioning? Who cares, he thought, listening to the satisfying thump of limp bodies hitting the floor. Who cares about any of this?

“The Death Star plans are not in the main computer,” one of the troopers told him. 

Oh, right. That’s what they were doing here. The Death Star plans. He remembered now. He had hold of the ship’s captain by the throat and he shook him a little. “Where are those transmissions you intercepted?” he demanded.

“We intercepted no transmissions,” the captain choked out. “This is a consular ship. We’re on a diplomatic mission.”

A diplomatic mission to Tatooine. Now that was a bold lie. What were they going to do, sign a treaty with Jabba the Hutt? He felt the captain’s neck snap in his grip and the body went limp. Whoops. He tossed the corpse aside.

The captain probably wouldn’t have held up under questioning. They’d have gotten some good information from him, probably, if he’d taken him into custody. It had been suggested to Anakin once or twice that he was a little too enthusiastic about killing people, but he couldn’t help it. It was so _easy_ to kill people, and so satisfying, and he was often so distracted by his own thoughts that he didn’t always notice that he had killed someone until he felt the Force drain out of them.

He couldn’t kill the passenger, though. They were searching for her now. He tried again to remember who she was. Someone must have told him who they were chasing. They thought she had the Death Star plans. Why was she taking the Death Star plans to Tatooine, of all the godforsaken nightmare worlds she could have taken them? Did the rebels have a base here? He’d have to send some people down to the surface. He wouldn’t go himself, not if the Emperor himself commanded him to. He’d rip his respirator out of his throat and die before he set foot on that planet again.

If they wanted to run a real test of the Death Star, they should bring it here, he thought. Blow Tatooine to dust. He’d like to see that. He’d really like to see that a lot.

They had found her. A very young woman, all in white. That’s right. He remembered who she was now. Bail Organa’s girl. Fucking Bail Organa, who had been such an irritation all these years, and who was always just a bit too wealthy and a bit too influential and a bit too beloved to be taken care of like the problem he was. Well. They had him now. He wouldn’t be able to talk his way out of his teenage daughter being caught fleeing from the rebel attack on Scarif.

Why Tatooine?

She was arguing with him, like she wasn’t afraid of him, still trying to pretend she didn’t know anything about the stolen plans, still trying to claim she was simply on ordinary Senate business. An absurdity; he had personally watched this ship escape at Scarif. 

She was beautiful, and he hated her for it. Her big dark eyes reminded him of Padmé, and Padmé had worn her hair like that sometimes, too, and how _dare_ this girl be alive and standing in front of him when Padmé was dead, long dead, had been dead as long as this little bitch had been alive, who did she think she was, he would crush every bone in her tiny little body…

He sent her away. He would be in real trouble if he killed the girl without finding out what she knew, and he had enough problems.

* * * * *

He would have liked to go back to Mustafar to have a good sulk, but his master wanted him on the Death Star to keep an eye on things. The Death Star was impressive, in its way, but he was already sick of watching Tarkin strut around it as if it were in any way his accomplishment. Tarkin always did shit like that, swooping in to steal credit for other people’s work. Not that Anakin really cared. But Tarkin was deeply irritating, full of himself, and not particularly afraid of Vader. He probably should have been, since every time they were in the same room, Anakin had to concentrate extra hard to prevent himself from snapping Tarkin’s neck. He would very much like to kill him, but his master found Tarkin useful, and would be angry at him if he did.

But his master was always angry at him anyway, so maybe it didn’t really matter.

Anakin hated his master. Anakin hated just about everything and everyone, but he hated his master the most. The only reason Anakin hadn’t already shut down his respirator or jumped into the lava that surrounded his castle or just plain stepped out of an airlock was because he was waiting for his chance to kill his master. Once he killed his master, he would be in charge of everything, and then he would either make the galaxy run smoothly as his master had been unable to do, or he would finally kill himself and go see Padmé and his mother. 

If he got the chance, he would like to kill Obi-Wan, too. He was certain that Obi-Wan was still alive, although he had no idea where he was and hadn’t bothered to look. He had a feeling that Obi-Wan would reappear at some point, and they’d finish what they’d started so long ago. One of them would be dead at the end of it, and whichever of them it was, it would be a relief.

* * * * *

Interrogation was usually fun, but interrogating Bail Organa’s girl was frustrating. She was tougher than he’d expected her to be and she was holding up well. Yes, she was screaming, she was terrified and in more pain that she had ever imagined was possible, but she hadn’t given him a shred of useful information, and he was getting to the limits of what he could do to her without actually killing her. At least it wasn’t boring. Anakin was bored a lot.

Padmé had liked Bail Organa. Anakin hadn’t been _jealous,_ precisely, of how much time she spent with him, except inasmuch as he was jealous of everyone who got to spend time with Padmé out in the open. No sneaking around and pretending they barely knew each other. They were allowed to be friends, and no one thought anything of it.

Padmé had visited Alderaan often. She was friends with Organa’s wife, too, who rarely left her planet because she was the queen. If Padmé and the baby had not died, their child and this girl might have been friends. He could almost picture it now: his child and the Organa girl, children running through the gardens, laughing, playing the kinds of games that children played when they grew up safe and happy, when they were allowed to be children. Children who weren’t slaves, like he’d been. Perhaps, when they grew up, they would have fallen in love, in that way that sometimes children who’ve known each other all their lives might fall in love. That would have made Padmé happy.

Sometimes it seemed impossible that after so long, the grief of having lost her could still hit him with such violence, but it did. So badly he thought it would kill him, but if you could really die of a broken heart, he would have died a long time ago.

He’d been such an idiot, to listen to his master. He should have left the Jedi as soon as Padmé told him about the baby. He should have gone with her to Naboo, like she wanted, found a house in the lake country, like she wanted. Hired the best doctors to take care of her; why hadn’t he thought of that? He’d been so afraid that giving birth to their baby would kill her; why hadn’t he told her to stop hiding the pregnancy, sent her to the doctor so they could take care of her, she could have had the baby and she would have been all right and they would have been a family, and they would have been happy.

He came back to the present, suddenly. The girl had stopped screaming. He had been so swept away thinking of Padmé that he’d stopped doing anything to her. Now she was lying there on the floor and she turned and looked up at him. Her face was red and streaked with tears, but in her eyes, behind the terror and agony there was something steely. She was stronger than a girl her age should be.

Padmé had been like that, too.

She wasn’t going to talk. She knew something, but she wasn’t going to tell him anything. He wondered if she knew that she was Force-sensitive. She probably didn’t. No one would have told her, because there was no one left alive who knew enough about the Force to recognize it, except him and his master. And Obi-Wan, wherever he was.

It wasn’t fair that she should be alive, not when Padmé was dead, not when his child was dead. His hand tightened into a fist and he saw her begin to choke. Served her right. He ought to kill her now, squeeze all that power out of her until she died. It would be so easy, and it would feel so good. He released his grip and prodded her with his boot. She was alive, and just barely conscious, coughing and choking trying to pull air into her lungs. He kicked her. Stupid girl.

“You should just tell me what I want to know,” he told her. She couldn’t tell him anything now; couldn’t have gotten a word out of her throat. Lovely bruises were starting to bloom on that white throat. She’d be so pretty like that. “I’ll give you some time to think about it,” he said, and gave her one last kick in the back before striding out of the cell.

* * * * *

He’d almost murdered Motti again. Motti was obnoxious and killing him would be a service to the galaxy, but he wasn’t supposed to go around murdering Imperial officers. His master would be angry. Angrier than usual. His master had told him a hundred times, “we can’t run everything ourselves; I need these people to keep the galaxy running.” Keep the galaxy running. The galaxy had fallen into chaos since his master took power. He was supposed to make things orderly. Now there was a rebellion that was growing stronger by the day. There would be all out war soon, and they wouldn’t be fighting droids with clones this time. It was going to be a big mess.

He was kind of looking forward to it, actually. At least it would be something to alleviate his boredom. 

Now Tarkin was yelling at him. Why hadn’t he gotten any useful information out of the princess? What good was he if he couldn’t do such a simple task? And on and on. One of these days Tarkin was going to find himself with Vader’s fist around his throat, and then… 

He tuned it all out. Let Tarkin rant and rave. He was thinking about the girl. Maybe, if he behaved himself, his master would let him have the girl when this was all over. What else were they going to do with her? Tarkin had signed an execution order, but that didn’t mean she actually had to die; Vader could have her and take her to Mustafar. It would take some time to break her, but it could be done. She had the raw talent; he could finally have an apprentice of his own. Once he’d gotten her on his side and trained her up a little, they could kill his master together.

He couldn’t tell his master that was why he wanted her, of course, but maybe if he said he wanted her for more traditional reasons. Anakin was still technically capable of sexual intercourse, although he’d never put that to the test. His master did not seem to have any feeling in that direction whatsoever, but he had often suggested to Anakin that he should take advantage of what was available. He would be less kill-happy, the Emperor suggested, if he could work his feelings out another way. Maybe if he told his master that was why he wanted the girl, his master would be pleased that he was finally taking his advice, and let him have her without asking a lot of questions.

“Why were you going to Tatooine?” he asked her. She didn’t answer. He hadn’t brought the mind probe or any other interrogation droids with him this time. It was just the two of them.

“What’s on Tatooine?” he asked. She just sat and stared at the floor. She was shaking all over; scared of him. The bruises on her neck were almost black. “You should tell me,” he said. “I’m asking nicely.”

She looked up at him like she’d never heard anything so stupid. She was very stubborn.

“You don’t have to die, you know,” he said. “If you cooperate—”

She laughed. She _laughed_ at him. “You must think I’m pretty stupid, Vader. Of course I’m going to die here. And I’m not telling you a damn thing.”

He wondered if anyone had told Bail Organa where his daughter was. He would like to see the look on that face.


	2. Chapter 2

Obi-Wan was here. He’d known that Obi-Wan would turn up sooner or later, and now he was here, on the Death Star. He must have been hiding on that freighter they’d pulled in. Why had they bothered to pull in that freighter? Were they going to pull in every ship that showed up where Alderaan used to be? It was going to take some time for word to spread about what had happened, and the only people who could spread it were people who showed up expecting Alderaan to be there. Or he supposed Tarkin would make an announcement. Someone was probably writing the press release now.

But they’d pulled in the freighter, and there was no one aboard, supposedly. But Obi-Wan was on it. He’d known it right away. He thought about going down to the landing bay, tearing the ship apart personally until he found his old master, and then killing him. That would have been satisfying, but it wasn’t the way things were meant to be. These things had to be done correctly. Obi-Wan had a reason for being here. He wanted to find out what it was.

So he stalked the corridors. Where was he? Obi-Wan must be old by now.  _ He _ was old, so Obi-Wan was even older. Where was he? Why was he here? Did he know that Anakin was here? He must know. They would find each other. He was looking forward to it.

Meanwhile, there was an emergency. Bail Organa’s girl had escaped her cell. She’d had help, of course; Force-sensitive or not, she couldn’t have gotten out herself. There’d been a breach. The freighter. They had barely searched it. Stormtroopers were idiots. Worse than clones. He’d have some of them killed to teach the others a lesson. But that was for later. First he had to kill Obi-Wan.

* * * * *

Obi-Wan didn’t exactly die. There was no body. He simply… dissolved. Was there one moment and gone the next, just as he’d been about to take off his head. It was unsatisfying. Typical Obi-Wan, managing to snatch Anakin’s revenge right out from under him, somehow. At least he was gone, though. That was something.

Not enough.

They let the ship get away, with Bail Organa’s girl on it. They could have stopped them, but Tarkin wanted to see where they went, since there didn’t seem to be any other way of finding out the location of the rebel base.

It was impressive that she’d lied, under the circumstances. She was an interesting young woman. He had found it very satisfying when Tarkin found out that the girl had lied to him about the location of the base. Tarkin had been enjoying his victory, gloating about it, so delighted to have accomplished what Vader could not, and then it was all a lie and he’d destroyed Alderaan for nothing. The Emperor was going to be angry about that. Tarkin had not gotten permission to destroy Alderaan; he was governor of this sector, so it was under his jurisdiction, but the Emperor didn’t like people making big showy statements without running it by him first. The Emperor would have wanted to choose the first target himself. He was already annoyed enough about Jedha and Scarif. Tarkin was going to be in trouble, and Anakin was looking forward to that. Maybe his master would let him kill Tarkin. That might be too much to ask, but destroying Alderaan was a pretty big fuckup.

Why had Bail Organa’s girl been going to Tatooine? Had Obi-Wan been on Tatooine? What a place to spend his retirement.

Why would Obi-Wan go to Tatooine? What was there, besides sand and misery? Miserable people slouching through their miserable lives, already half-dead. Perhaps he knew it was the one place in the universe that Anakin would never be able to find him, because Anakin would never set foot on Tatooine again. At least there was some comfort in knowing that Obi-Wan had lived out the last decades of his life in the worst place in the universe.

They should go destroy it. Instead of following the ship to the rebel base, he should take the Death Star to Tatooine and watch it explode like Alderaan had exploded. No one would miss it.

He killed a few stormtroopers, partly to punish them for their sloppiness and partly just for fun. He listened to the admirals and generals yelling at each other and panicking. He thought about Obi-Wan, disappearing instead of dying. He thought about the other powerful presence he’d felt aboard the station, after he’d been done with Obi-Wan. Did Obi-Wan have a new apprentice? Is that who he’d felt?

Whoever it was, he would find him.


	3. Chapter 3

“I believe we finally have an answer, my lord.”

“An answer to what?” He’d drifted off again.

“The name of the rebel pilot who destroyed the Death Star, my lord.”

That’s right. Obi-Wan’s apprentice. That presence, so strong with the Force. That presence he’d been searching for. “Well?” Draw it out a little longer, you idiot, he thought. 

“His name is Luke Skywalker, my lord.”

His name was what? Anakin was sure he’d misheard. “Say that again,” he commanded.

“Luke Skywalker, my lord.”

_ Luke Skywalker? _

The baby had lived. The baby had lived and no one had told him. That was the only explanation. There were no other Skywalkers. His mother had invented the name.

_ The baby had lived. _

Padmé’s son.  _ His  _ son. Where had he been? Where had Obi-Wan hidden him? It was starting to make sense now. Tatooine. Obi-Wan had taken the baby to Tatooine and hidden him. He tried to remember what had happened on Tatooine a month or so ago. They had been searching for some droids. The girl had sent droids to Tatooine, with the Death Star plans. They had followed the droids to a moisture farm and burned it down. What farm?

There would be a record of it somewhere. But he had a feeling that he already knew. His mother’s husband must be dead by now, but he’d had a son. What was his name? Omar, or something. He couldn’t remember. He’d been nice enough when he met him. Polite. His mother had probably liked him. His mother had liked everyone.

His son was alive. His son was a rebel. His son could fly, was almost as good a pilot as he had been at his age, and with nowhere near as much practice, because where would he have gotten any practice on Tatooine? Not pod racing; not if Omar, or whatever his name was, had brought him up. Those moisture farm people never went into the cities.

His son had destroyed the Death Star, had killed Tarkin for him, and Motti, and the rest of the mewling idiots who had been on the station when it blew.

Now where was he? With the rebels, somewhere. He had to find him. Had to find him before his master found out. Unless his master had already known? Had his master known all along that the baby had not died?

What about Padmé? He had never seen her body. The last time he’d seen her, she had been breathing. She had been alive. He had believed his master, like an idiot, that she was dead, that he had killed her. But maybe that was a lie. Maybe it was all lies.

No, there had been a funeral. There was a grave. Padmé had died, but the baby had lived.

He had to find him. He would explain everything to him, would show him power, teach him to use it. Together they would kill his master, and together they would rule, they would put things right.


	4. Chapter 4

His master, of course, found out about Luke, because Anakin could never hide anything from his master, and now his master wanted Luke for himself. So much for the rule of two. 

When his master got Luke, he would probably kill Anakin. He’d killed his last apprentice; or rather, he’d had Anakin kill him, which was more or less the same thing. He remembered that day, how strange it had felt to have him at his mercy, how it had felt good in the moment to deny it to him, and how afterward he’d been wracked with guilt. He never felt guilty anymore. That old man had caused so much trouble, he’d deserved it, and if Luke killed him, he would deserve it, too.

But Luke wasn’t going to kill him. Yes, he had to bring Luke to his master. He couldn’t do otherwise. But Luke wouldn’t kill him, because he was his father, and he loved him. He would just have to explain it to him.

He didn’t have Luke yet, but he would have him soon. He had Bail Organa’s girl again, and he had the other one, Solo. Luke loved these people; Luke’s love for them rippled through the Force around their bodies, made them shine. So Luke would come for them, and then he would have his son. Once he and his son were together, everything would fall into place. They would kill his master together and then he wouldn’t be Luke’s master, he would be his _father,_ and they would finally bring to the galaxy the order and peace that the Emperor had promised, but never delivered.

Anakin felt happier than he’d felt in more than twenty years. It had taken _years,_ but everything was finally going according to plan, and soon he and his son would be together, at last. 

He stopped to supervise the torture of Han Solo. He’d given very specific instructions to cause the maximum amount of pain without risking killing him. It looked like everything was going well, there. He listened to Solo scream for a bit. What a satisfying sound, that would finally bring his son to him. 

Calrissian was buzzing around him like a fly, asking what was going to happen to the princess and the Wookiee. He didn’t care what happened to the Wookiee, but the princess was coming with him and Luke. No harm in having a backup apprentice that his master didn’t know about. His master would be so focused on Luke, he wouldn’t even notice that Anakin had brought the girl home. And the girl and Luke cared about each other, loved each other, so maybe they would both be more amenable to learning about the Dark Side of the Force if they could do it together.

He liked knowing that his son loved Bail Organa’s daughter. Padmé would have wanted that. He wished Padmé could see their son. She would be so proud of him. He had no illusions about which side of this war Padmé would have fought for, if she were alive. If she had not died, perhaps he would be on that side with her. With her and their son.

To shut Calrissian up, he told him that the girl and the Wookiee could stay here with him on Cloud City. He probably only wanted her for the usual reasons. Let him think he could have her. She was coming home with him.

* * * * *

They froze Han Solo in carbonite, which was fun. There was a scuffle at the platform, and he enjoyed watching that. Solo kissed Bail Organa’s girl, and she told him that she loved him, which he didn’t like as much. His son loved her; who did she think she was, loving someone else? Well, he would break her of that on Mustafar. She was probably just confused. He was getting anxious. Luke was landing his X-Wing on the platform outside. It was almost time to see his son.

He ordered the princess taken to his ship, and Calrissian started grousing again. What an annoying little man. He should have just killed him once he had his prisoners. He had been trying not to kill people quite as quickly; he’d been in a very bad temper the last few months and had gone through _several_ admirals on the _Executor_ in the space of a few weeks. The datawork alone was becoming a big hassle, and more than one officer had deserted rather than accept a posting on Vader’s ship. So he’d been working on not killing everyone who annoyed him, which was lucky for Calrissian, who was very annoying.

* * * * *

Things did not go well with Luke. He should have told him right away, but he was so overwhelmed, he couldn’t find the words.

Instead they fought. Luke wasn’t very good with his lightsaber yet, but it wasn’t really _his,_ so that made sense. It was Anakin’s old lightsaber, the one he had built when he was made a Jedi knight. Obi-Wan must have picked it up on Mustafar, kept it safe for Luke all those years. It was traditional for a padawan to receive his first lightsaber from his master; Anakin’s training saber had belonged to Obi-Wan’s master, Qui-Gon Jinn. You built your real saber during the trials to become a knight. Luke would have to build his own lightsaber, too. Anakin could show him how to do it.

Obi-Wan had been a sentimental old thing, to hold on to Anakin’s lightsaber all those years and then give it to Luke. For a moment he almost missed his old master. They’d had some good times together, before everything went so horribly wrong.

* * * * *

He lost everything. He lost Luke, who apparently decided that he’d rather _die_ than join his father, and he lost the girl, too, because the stormtroopers were too stupid to hang on to her. It was an even bigger failure than the Death Star had been. He was going to kill a lot of people for this. His master was going to be furious, and he would blame Anakin, even though Anakin had done everything right; his plan had been perfect. How could Luke _do_ this to him?

In a fit of temper, he stormed through the hallways of the city, killing whoever was unlucky enough to cross his path. People were fleeing the city in droves; Calrissian had made an announcement before he left, warning everyone that Vader was here, so now they were running. The Millennium Falcon had gotten away, even though it shouldn’t have been able to. More incompetence. He was surrounded by incompetence.

He was just getting angrier. Killing people wasn’t any help. He wanted to kill Calrissian, whose fault this was, but Calrissian had fled like a coward, had fled on the Millennium Falcon and taken Vader’s prizes away with him when he did. The people he was killing now had nothing to do with this, not really; it was Calrissian’s fault they were dying. He had made Vader angry and then he had run away. He must have known what would happen.

He’d been so close.


	5. Chapter 5

He was being punished, which wasn’t fair. He’d been demoted down to errand boy, sent to intimidate Jerjerrod on the new Death Star. The Emperor was annoyed by how long it was taking to complete. They’d been working on it for nearly four years, and the Emperor thought it should be done by now. The Emperor used to be a patient man: he had spent decades laying the groundwork for the Clone Wars, the destruction of the Jedi, and his ascension to Emperor. He had spent years carefully grooming Anakin to help him. The first Death Star took over twenty years to complete. He used to be a patient man.

But the Emperor was getting old; he hadn’t been a young man when he ascended, and it had been nearly a quarter century since then. The older he got, the less patient he was.

Of course, the entire team of scientists and engineers who designed the first Death Star had been killed by stupid Krennic four years ago; the original schematics and plans for the project were destroyed when stupid Tarkin destroyed the archival facility at Scarif; and the hastily assembled new team had needed to redesign huge portions of it from scratch, anyway, to deal with the little problem of the reactor core being exposed through a supposed “ventilation shaft.”

So it was really quite impressive that they’d made as much progress as they had.

Not that Anakin cared. He landed on the Death Star and intimidated Jerjerrod as he’d been told to do. The pathetic man was terrified, and he basked in the terror, which was as close to enjoying anything as he could get anymore. 

The Emperor had decided that he wanted to come to the Death Star himself, which was lunacy. Age and impatience were making him careless. Maybe Anakin would get his chance yet. 

The rebels would probably destroy this Death Star, too. They had Luke, and Luke was powerful; as powerful as Anakin, perhaps. Not more powerful than the Emperor, but he could be. They could be, together. The next time he saw Luke, he would do things right. He would make him understand. Then, together, they would kill his master. 

So he went through the motions, stalking the corridors and intimidating people, which was all he was fit to do, apparently. His master had promised him power; had promised him freedom from the constraints of the Jedi; had promised him so many things, and now what was he? Just an old man’s lapdog. Just a man in a mask. Nobody at all.

Eventually his master arrived on the station. Most of the people here had never seen the Emperor, not even so much as a holo of him. He had become reclusive in his old age and rarely appeared in public anymore. Why was he here, anyway? What game was he playing?

The Emperor was only there a short time before he sent Vader away, to wait on the command ship until he was called for. That was just as well. He hated the Death Star, and he hated his master. Was there anything left that he didn’t hate? His son, that’s all. 

Soon enough, Luke would realize how much had been kept from him by Obi-Wan, and by whatever accomplices the old man had. Luke wanted his father. He must. They would be together, and he would show his son power, would show him the truth: that the Jedi had been weak, had been fools, had cut themselves off from the great source of power within themselves. Luke was young, like Anakin had been once. He had no way of knowing. When he and his son were together again, everything would be all right.

So he was on his ship, brooding, when he felt his son’s presence nearby. Luke was here! It was time, it was nearly time. This time things would be different.

Luke was on a shuttle, a stolen Imperial shuttle on its way down to the moon. He let the shuttle pass. What should he do now? His master would know that Luke had come. His master would know that he knew that Luke had come.

He returned to the Death Star to tell his master, hating himself for his cowardice.

His master had not known Luke was there, or at least he claimed he didn’t. So he hadn’t needed to come after all. But it was too late now; he’d told his master about Luke, and now his master wanted him to bring Luke here.

“You must go to the sanctuary moon and wait for him,” his master told him.

_“He_ will come to _me?”_ The last time he saw Luke, Luke had nearly killed himself just to get away from him. Would he really come?

“I have foreseen it,” his master said, and then he sent him away.

* * * * *

The moon was alive. Teeming with life. The Force hummed through everything, wrapped its tendrils around him, sang to him seductively of another way of life. A living life. He had spent so little time in places like this. Mustafar was more dead than it was alive; a world where nothing living could thrive. In space there was even less: only the small, meaningless lives of the men on the ships. Lives barely touched by the Force. The ships hummed, but it was not the Force that animated them.

Here the Force was everywhere: it was singing. It was an assault to stand in such a living place, to feel the Force singing in his cells. _You are alive,_ it seemed to say, _you are alive, and wild, and precious; you are more than this sad, constricted thing you have become. You are a luminous being._

It was lies, all of it. He was not a luminous being, and he was barely alive. There was nothing alive and wild in him anymore, much less precious, much less luminous. Everything that was good in him had died with Padmé.

Luke came to him, as his master had said he would. He surrendered himself to the guards and he seemed calm and unafraid. That was good. The last time they had seen each other, Luke had been afraid. This time, everything would be all right.

This time they talked, and Luke called him “father.” Then he felt alive, for just the briefest instant, and in the following instant, he was crushed by despair and hopelessness. He was going to give his son to the Emperor, and then Luke would be lost forever, condemned to an eternity of servitude like his pathetic, wicked, stupid father.

Luke had a new lightsaber. So he was no longer a mere learner. He examined it. It was well constructed; carefully made. The crystal was green, and the blade well focused. He wondered how Luke had learned how to do it. Building a lightsaber was not an easy thing, but his son had done well. He had not needed his father to teach him. He had not needed his father for anything. 

And yet he was here. He had sought him out. Why? Because he hoped to find a way to turn him away from the path he’d been walking since before Luke was even born? Back to the old ways, away from darkness, away from the Emperor, away from servitude? 

“I know there is good in you,” said Luke, and then: “Come with me.” 

Something inside Anakin broke. Go with him? Go with him _where?_ Where could they run that the Emperor could not find them? He had been promised power, been promised freedom, but he was less free than ever. Even as a slave on Tatooine, he’d been more free than he was now.

It was too late. There was nothing he would not do for his son, but it was too late now. He had to bring Luke to his master. He hated himself; hated his cowardice, his fear; hated that he was so cowed by this old man who he ought to have killed a thousand times by now.

But he would do it. It was too late. He was beaten.

* * * * *

Luke was strong. Stronger than Anakin had been. Or perhaps he just had more that he cared about. Ideals. Maybe ideals were worth something, then, because Luke refused to give in. He tried to warn him, to tell him there was no use resisting. At least once Luke gave himself over, they could be together, even if they were both shackled to this vicious being who called himself Emperor forever. But Luke refused. Even as the Emperor taunted him, telling him how all his friends were going to die, Luke was steadfast.

Anakin could only stand there, hating himself only slightly less than he hated his master. He could still feel that hum of the living world he had stood on a few hours ago, the Force singing in his cells.

At last it was too much, and Luke took his saber and turned toward the Emperor. Anakin should have done nothing, but somehow, without wanting to or thinking about it, he blocked the stroke. Why? All he wanted was for the old man to die. Why did he move to save him? Was he really so utterly lost to himself? So completely the old man’s creature? _You are alive,_ the hum said. _You are alive._

No I’m not, he thought. I’m nothing. I’m already dead.

They fought. Luke’s skills had improved since they last met. Of course, he had his own, true lightsaber now.

The Emperor cackled. He was having a wonderful time. Why was Anakin fighting his son, his precious son, at the behest of this hideous, hateful old man? What would Padmé say? Her _son,_ the son she had never known, the son she had died bringing into the world, the son she would have died for a hundred times over. What was he _doing?_

“I feel the good in you, the conflict,” Luke said, setting his lightsaber aside.

“There is no conflict,” he replied. _You are alive. You are luminous._

Nothing had gone as it was supposed to. He was a failure, as much a failure as Obi-Wan. He had underestimated his master, had overestimated his own strength. He was nothing, and no one. Only a servant to a hateful old man. He would never kill his master. He would never be free of him. He was a dead man whose body still moved, that was all.

But Luke… Luke was radiant with love for the people he cared about, those rebels down on the surface of the moon. A pure, unselfish love, a love unlike anything Anakin could imagine. Luke would never turn, because Luke had something worth dying for: he loved. He was the luminous being that Anakin would never be.

He followed Luke’s love, felt it; longed for it. There was, perhaps, a little sliver saved for him. Luke loved him, or he wanted to, and no one had loved Anakin in such a long time. He reached for it, hungry for it, and in that radiant love, he felt something new.

Luke wasn’t alone. Luke had a sister.

There was another baby. They were twins. He had a daughter, too.

He knew immediately who it was. Bail Organa’s girl. Bail Organa had stolen his daughter. Of course. She looked so much like Padmé, didn’t she? Hadn’t he thought so, when they met on her ship so long ago? Why hadn’t he seen it? His child, his daughter. What had he _done_ to her? He felt momentarily sick. He could hear her screams echoing through his mind. His _daughter._

“If you will not turn to the dark side,” he told Luke, “perhaps _she_ will.”

It was a cruel, stupid thing to say, and it wasn’t true. That girl was stronger than either of them. He hadn’t broken her on the Death Star, he hadn’t broken her on Bespin. She was her mother’s daughter, unshakable. Padmé could never be persuaded away from what she believed was right. Padmé, were she alive, would be down on that moon with her daughter, blaster in hand, fighting. She would fight until her last breath.

But it made Luke angry, so angry that he attacked, so angry that they were fighting each other again, and Anakin was losing, because Luke was finally embracing the power that came from rage. So really, they were both losing. It was the Emperor, and only the Emperor, who was winning.

Luke’s lightsaber took one of Vader’s hands off. Lucky right hand, he thought distantly. Gone again. Maybe this time he’d never have to replace it. Maybe Luke was going to kill him. Maybe that was for the best.

But Luke didn’t kill him. He looked at him for a moment, and he looked at his own mechanical hand. Vader had taken that hand, just as the Emperor’s last apprentice had taken his. Was this the Force? Was this their destiny, to keep playing out this same sad story? _You are a luminous being._ I’m not, though, he thought. I’m not.

Luke threw his lightsaber aside. “You’ve failed, Your Highness,” he told the Emperor. “I am a Jedi, like my father before me.”

Your father was nothing, thought Anakin. Your father is a weak old man. Your father is a coward. You are your mother’s son. His heart twisted. How proud she would be of Luke. How much she would have loved him. Anakin should have been the one to die. She should have lived to raise her children.

The Emperor must have had enough. He was impatient, he was tired of this. “If you will not be turned,” the Emperor said, “you will be destroyed.” And then lightning sprung from his hands.

Anakin had seen the Emperor do this before, rarely. He had once or twice been subjected to the lightning himself. It was agony.

He stood there and watched his master killing his son. Padmé’s son. You coward, he thought to himself. You pathetic coward.

“You’re not going to let this happen?” It was Obi-Wan’s voice. “You’re not really going to stand here and let him die?”

I don’t have any other choice, he thought.

“Always another choice there is.” Old Master Yoda, here too. Wonderful.

You don’t understand. It’s too late.

“It will be soon,” said Obi-Wan. “But there’s still time. He’s your _son,_ Anakin.”

His son.

_You are a luminous being. You have known love. Know it again. Know it again. You are still alive. Live._

I can’t. I _can’t._

Time seemed to stop and for a moment he was back in Padmé’s apartment on Coruscant. She in her silk nightgown on the broad balcony, a hairbrush in her hand, her curls hanging loose in the light breeze, her smile soft and dreamy, her belly only just starting to swell. “Ani, I want to have our baby back home on Naboo,” she said. “I could go early and fix up the baby's room. I know the perfect spot, right by the gardens.” She was so beautiful. Luminous.

“We should have gotten on a ship that very night,” he told her, and she smiled at him, beatific. “I did everything wrong,” he said.

She touched his face gently. “It’s not too late to do something right,” she said, and then he was back on the Death Star.

He grabbed the old man and lifted him up. He was so small; his body had grown so weak and so frail. Would it have been this easy, all along? The lightning struck his helmet, and he could smell himself sizzling, but he barely noticed the pain. He was probably going to die, but first he was going to kill this old man and he was going to save his son. He could feel a strength that was more than just his own flowing through his limbs, what was left of him. As if Obi-Wan were helping him. As if all the old Jedi he had once loved were lending him their strength. Why should they do that, after everything he’d done? Thank you, he thought, as he hurled the old man’s body down into the reactor shaft. Something exploded and he fell to the floor.

He had done it. He had killed the Emperor. Hate had never made him strong enough to do it, but love had. Had he been so wrong about everything, for so long?

Everything had gone hazy. Padmé, he thought. I’m sorry. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness or your love, but please… please let me see you again. You would be so proud of your children.

Luke was trying to carry him out. The tide was turning. The station was going to be destroyed. The war would be over soon; Luke and his sister and their friends would win. Good. Good.

“Luke,” he said. “Help me take this mask off.” 

“But you’ll die,” said Luke.

“Nothing can stop that now.” He was going to die. Finally. Finally. But first he would see his son, not filtered and distorted through the mask, but for real, with his eyes. He would see his son and then he would die.


	6. Epilogue

Death came quietly and easily. Obi-Wan was there, his arms around him. “Anakin.” He couldn’t tell if Obi-Wan was laughing or crying, or both. 

“You sneaky old man,” said Anakin. “How did you do that disappearing trick?”

“It’s a secret,” said Obi-Wan. “I’m not even sure I know how I did it. Oh, I missed you, my friend. I’m sorry for everything. I failed you, and I failed your children, too.”

“You kept them safe,” said Anakin. “You kept them safe from me. I’m… I’m not angry anymore,” he went on, astonished. “I don’t remember ever not being angry.” 

“Much to be angry about, you had,” said old Master Yoda. “Now come, come along. Much we have to see. Come, come!” He couldn’t possibly  _ need _ the walking stick he was waving in Anakin’s direction, but there it was, regardless.

He felt light, as if he had set aside everything that weighed him down when he left his body behind. All that rage, shame, self-loathing; all that cruelty and hatefulness. He saw it now, clearly: all the misery he had poured out into the universe because he couldn’t see past his own pain. Because he thought that once he had chosen darkness, he couldn’t change his mind. But he could have. He could have chosen differently; any day of the last twenty-something years he might have made another choice, and he didn’t. He finally understood that now, now that it really was too late.

On the surface of the moon, he felt that humming again, and now he was a part of it, gave himself over to it, joyfully, easily, gratefully. Everything so alive: even the things, like him, that were dead. How had he cut himself off from all of this for so long? 

And there was his son, and his daughter, with her eyes that were so much like her mother’s, and they were happy, and their joy and their love made everything around them shine.

At least he had done one good thing in his miserable life, and now his children would live. They would love. They would be happy, as he had never been. He lingered there and watched them for a long time, and then he felt himself drifting apart, lifted up and returned to the Force that flows through all things, a luminous being at last.


End file.
